our gates.”
“I presume it failed,” she said, kicking one of the bodies with her toe and finding it mushier than she expected.
“Indeed,” Thad said, his amusement unhidden. “They tried to use Falcon’s Essence to sneak over the wall a few hundred feet over our head. It worked, we didn’t even see them coming until they hit the magical barrier at the perimeter and it stripped the enchantment right off of them, sending them plummeting to their deaths.” He nodded over the wall toward the army in the distance. “My guess is that they’re watching the gate, wondering why it hasn’t opened yet. Could be a long night for the poor bastard behind those spyglasses.”
“It could be a long night for those of us who were rousted for an alarm when there is plainly nothing to be alarmed about yet,” she said, grinding her teeth together. “And also those of us who have an early morning sortie planned at daybreak.”
“Sorry,” Thad said with a shrug, “but it’s the standard response to a surprise attack. We should be on our guard for the next few hours in case they try and storm the gates anyway.”
Vara steamed for a moment, staring at the castellan in sheerest irritation. “You were at the Society of Arms in Reikonos, were you not?”
He blinked at her in surprise. “I was.”
“Then I presume you were no Swift Sword.”
Thad seemed to wobble as if not sure how to answer. “No, I was. I was most assuredly not one of the cursed Able Axes.”
“I certainly believe that you might be swift but not able, based on what I’ve seen of your performance this night,” Vara said bitingly. “I will be returning to my bed, and I trust
Thad started to protest but was overcome by Alaric. “Do have a good night, Lady Vara.”
“Lady Vara?” she spun at the Ghost of Sanctuary. “And shall I begin addressing you as Lord Garaunt?”
Alaric’s gaze was steady and even, though there was a wearier bent to the man, she thought. “You may address me however you see fit, within the bounds of our mutual respect for each other.” He favored her with a smile that was shot through with fatigue but made no move to return to Sanctuary or his own bed, and after a moment of watching him, she turned and made her way back inside, threading through the steady flow of people that were coming to join in the defense of their home.
Chapter 62
Cyrus
They were formed up in a line along the plain, north of the village he had heard the others refer to as Filsharron. It was at least two miles north of the place they had been staying in for the past few nights, the humble inn with the squeaking bed and the rapidly diminishing supply of pickled eggs. Cyrus could still taste one of them on his beard, a messy thing, and filled with the foulness of vinegar, nothing like the fresh ones he was accustomed to at Sanctuary. The line was surprisingly quiet, the anticipation running across the men in it. Cyrus was at the fore, and the Sanctuary forces were stacked four deep in rows behind him. The spellcasters were behind that in a loose formation, and to his right, at the end of the Sanctuary line, was the ragged, motley assortment of the men and armies of Syloreas. To the left was the more neatly ordered rows of Actaluere’s forces, Milos Tiernan at the head with a few of his aides.
“Tiernan doesn’t seem the sort that would lead his army into battle,” Cyrus heard a rumbling voice say from behind him. He turned and saw Partus at the front of the line, his head well below the next person in the row.
“Appearances can be deceiving, I’m told,” Cyrus said with a slight barb to his voice. He watched Partus fail to react and tried to decide whether the dwarf had missed the point or was merely uninterested in it.
“He doesn’t look like he’s led a battle from the front in his entire life,” Partus said after Cyrus turned around. “Looks like he’s enjoyed life at the back of the fray-not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’d gladly take ruling a Kingdom over tangling with an army any day.”
Cyrus tilted his head to look at the dwarf, which was easier since they remained on foot, all the horses well to the rear of the battle lines save for cavalry reserves on either flank. Longwell, Cyrus knew, was with the Syloreans, and had taught them a few basic maneuvers in the last few days to increase their effectiveness in battle ahorse. “Why are you still here, Partus? Did we turn you loose or something?”
“Aye, Curatio cut me a deal,” Partus said, turning to loose a great wad of spit upon the dusty ground. “I’m to take part in this fight, and I can come back to Arkaria with the rest of you lot when it’s all over and done.”
“Couldn’t you just have gone back to Arkaria on your own, over the bridge?” Cyrus asked.
“And walk months to get there, then have to travel five days over the bridge on foot and gods knows how many months after that just to make my way to the nearest settlement? I think I’d rather take my chances with you lot and these beasties. After all, I’ve seen what they can do and we’re coming at them with a shite ton of men and swords.” Partus hefted his hammer. “I like our odds better than I like the idea of the walk.”
Cyrus shook his head. “Of course, you care about what happens to this land and it’s people too, right?” He said it with all due sarcasm.
“I could give a pickled fig what happens to this land and its people,” Partus said with another great slop of brown spit; Cyrus realized now that it was filled with tobacco juice. “I’ve seen enough of Luukessia to choke me out for seven lifetimes. I’ll be heading back to the Dwarven Alliance after this, perhaps hire on as a mercenary to take up some nice, quiet picket duty watching the humans go about their business in the Northlands from atop a hill, or guarding the caverns and streets of Fertiss against drunken mischief-makers. All I want to do is get drunk every night on wine and ale, find myself in a bed with a woman every morning and work as little as possible at making a living.”
“You’re really quite the inspiration,” Cyrus said, and turned back to the northern horizon.
“I don’t see you sticking your neck out here under the axeman’s blade any longer than you have to,” the dwarf replied. “Or am I wrong and you’ll just hang around here being jolly in the hinterlands with these tribes of squabbling men and children who sit around the campfires at night trying to engineer up new ways to fornicate with their animals.”
“I don’t see them fornicating with animals,” Cyrus said, “but perhaps I spend my time in different places than you do.”
“This whole land reeks of backwardness,” Partus went on, undeterred by Cyrus’s jibe. “Their women are like property, they’ve got no magical ability at all, not enough to cast a light in early evening, and their finest hovels don’t even possess running water.” Another gob of spit made the same squirting noise, though this time Cyrus didn’t watch it. “This was a good lesson, thinking that things couldn’t get any worse than they had for me in Arkaria before I left; they can. They did. And I can’t bloody wait to get back.”
“You’re a charming fellow, Partus, don’t let anyone tell you differently,” Cyrus said and strode off down the front line, away from the dwarf. He didn’t say anything until he reached Odellan, who stood at ease but still more at attention than most of the men around him. “What do you say, Odellan? Are we ready?”
“Having not seen what you’ve seen about these enemies,” Odellan said, a little stiffly at first, “I don’t quite know what to expect. That said, I’m confident that we’re more up to the challenge than our companions from Syloreas and Actaluere.”
“You mean battle discipline?” Cyrus asked.
“Compared to the men who compose more than half of Syloreas’s fighting force, yes, I speak of discipline,” Odellan said. “But when comparing us to Actaluere, I mean belief. I think the men of Syloreas who came here of their own volition will fight harder than the professional army of Actaluere,” he said with a nod to the left. “I’ve looked in the eyes of some of those men dressed in skins and furs, with their swords and wooden shields handed down through generations. They’re here to fight for their homeland, for revenge in some cases if they made it out of the towns that fell. They won’t break for lack of courage and will fight so long as someone keeps leading them. Actaluere’s army, on the other hand, seems to know which way the wind is blowing. They’ve done this before-not
